Murder Made Legal: A Casey Alton Mystery

by Richard Wren

  Peterson put on a hurt expression. “No sir, I never did that.”

  “Bull pockey. Sure you did. We saw you make the phone call, and then he shows up right after that? Think about it, you idiot. How the hell else would he know what was going on? And then knowing he was on the way, you attacked us, and I knocked your teeth loose. You better start leveling with us, or I’ll finish the job with a baseball bat. .”

  Peterson caved. “Alright, alright. I did phone Earl, but only because he’d be interested about something that happened so long ago.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Fact is, you phoned him, and he showed up pretty quick. That means he wasn’t too far away. You know where?”

  “Honest to God, I haven’t the faintest.”

  “How about the phone number?”

  “I got it, but it’s a cell phone number. Could go anywhere.”

  “Hold it,” Casey interrupted, “Let me check something with Josie.” He ran into the kitchen where Josie, the sister, and Marilyn were working, asking a question as he entered the room. “I think I remember that once you said the D.A. could get addresses and all kinds of information from a cell phone number?”

  The ladies were deep in conversation, and Josie asked him to repeat. “What’d you say? Something about cell phones?”

  Impatiently he answered. “Can the D.A.’s office trace a cell phone number?”

  “Of course, anyone can. There’s a website. Give them the number and you can get the name, address and more. I think it costs about a dollar a number. Look it up,” and she turned back to the other two.

  Feeling ridiculous, Casey returned to the dining room and delivered the news.

  “Phone number,” Smitty demanded of Peterson.

  “It’s a five one zero area code. That’d make it East-bay, right?”

  “And a good part of the South bay too. Did you get the website for the address finder?”

  “Josie said to just ask the internet for information about whether or not addresses can be found for a cell phone number, and it’ll pop up.”

  “Progress!” Les said. “Onward and upward to the computer.” They all trooped to the basement that had been converted into an office for Josie.

  “Seventy-four cents,” Casey announced. “That’s how much it costs to get the information. I guess we can afford that,” he said and used his credit card.

  “I’ll be damned, just like that, it’s on the screen,” Smitty said. “Alameda! That sure as hell makes sense considering how fast he got to the bar.”

  Les spoke up. “Alameda’s so damn small, you could get from anywhere to anywhere in a few minutes. What’s the address?”

  “Lina Avenue. Wherever the hell that is.”

  Casey turned to the computer. “There it is, off to the west of the Posey tube.”

  Over his shoulder, Les put his finger on the screen. “I know where it is, right near that big winery.”

  Casey spun in his chair. “Winery?”

  “Yep, the only one in Alameda. It’s right near. Close to the old naval air base too.” Then he slid his finger across the screen a short distance. “More importantly, it’s only about ten blocks from Shirl’s bar.”

  Josie’s cell phone rang. Smitty said, “For Christ’s sake, don’t answer it. We got enough trouble already.”

  Marilyn glanced at caller display on the phone. “It’s Esther at the office. I think she moved up to take my place.” Josie told her to take the call. She listened for a second, then said, “hold on Esther, I’m turning on the speaker phone.” She whispered, “Something’s happened,”

  “Say that again?” she asked.

  In a hurried voice, Esther blurted. “I don’t know what the heck you guys did, but you sure lit a fire over here. Gordon’s grandfather stormed in here this morning with some of the toughest ruffians I’ve ever seen! It was amazing. He walks with two canes, but you’d never guess he’s in his nineties. You would have thought he was in charge, the way he barged in.”

  Josie handed the phone to Marilyn. “See if you can calm her down and find out what happened.”

  “Esther, its Marilyn, what’s going on?”

  “It’s Gordon’s grandfather. Gordon physically threw him out!”

  “Gordon threw his granddad out?”

  “Yes. He stormed in and barged his way over to Gordon’s office like he owned the place, slammed the door behind him, and started yelling. At first, we couldn’t hear Gordon, but after a while he started yelling, too. We couldn’t hear everything said, but we got enough words to know Gordon was getting madder and madder. The whole office kind of froze. We couldn’t help but hear what was going on. Your name was shouted out a couple of times.”

  Marilyn interrupted her. “Esther, where are you?”

  “Still in the office. They kept arguing at the top of their lungs for maybe five minutes, then all of a sudden, his door flew open and Gordon pushed his granddad out.”

  “He fell?” Marilyn was astonished.

  “No, no. I guess, he’d sat in a secretary’s chair with wheels, so Gordon grabbed the back of the chair, turned it around, and wheeled it right through the doorway, his grandfather screaming at him all the way. Gordon paid no attention to us, just wheeled his granddad to the elevator telling him to shut the fuck up and get out of his life. God, he was mad.”

  “Then what?”

  “The goons grabbed his canes and followed him. He kept yelling something about Gordon not appreciating all he’d done for him.”

  Smitty said, “That’s it. We got him by the short hairs now. He and his grand-dad are at odds. I think Gordon was in on the rape and his grand-dad knew about it and that’s what the blow up was about.

  “What did Gordon do?” Marilyn continued

  “On the way back from the elevator, he pulled it together and told the petrified staff that he wished they hadn’t had to witness that. Then he left. That’s why I called. What the heck have you guys done?”

  “Hold on for a sec, Esther.” She turned to Josie. “Can I have her come up here? I feel kinda responsible.”

  “Sure,” Josie replied. “Tell her I asked.”

  Evidently, Esther didn’t need much convincing. “She’s on her way,” Marilyn announced.

  “What d’ya know about all that?” Smitty gloated.

  Casey was a little more cautious. “All we really know is Gordon had a fight with his grandfather.”

  “You read it that way, Josie?”

  Josie thought for a moment. “No, no I don’t. I know Gordon. Even though he called his grandpop all kinds of names, he still respected him. It would take a hell of a lot to have him act the way he did. Something big and bad happened.”

  “Here’s what I think happened,” Smitty said. “The old man got desperate when he heard about the investigation into him and tried to get his grandson to put a stop to it. Then when Gordon said he couldn’t do it, the old man lost his cool and told his grandson why he owed him. Gordon blew his stack and kicked him out. Simple as that.”

  Casey picked up on that. “Then, he realized he’d be in the soup too when the rape history comes out, so he tore out of the office?”

  “You think?” Josie asked.

  “It makes sense.” Casey turned to her and said, “If the old man told him he was going to be prosecuted because of what he did to protect his grandson from a rape charge, there’s no way Gordon could protect himself.”

  Josie paused. “He might. Don’t forget the ten-year statute of limitations in rape cases in California.”

  “Still in all, it’d be a tremendous black eye to his career,” Casey objected.

  “No doubt. He would probably have to resign.”

  “Hold on, hold on,” Smitty demanded. “If the old man’s desperate enough to tell his grandson what he did, what else might he do?”

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Casey said.

  “And be careful,” added Smitty.

  “And be careful,” echoed Casey.
/>   Peterson had been listening and added something. “Did you say the D.A.’s office? The one in Oakland?”

  Smitty, growing short tempered with all the interruptions said, “Why?”

  “Ain’t that the same one Lanner talked about?”

  “Smitty ignored the question and got back to the original subject. “You think he would still be at the same address?”

  Peterson thought for a minute. “Possibly, quickly followed by, “Probably. Hell, he’s gotta be at least in his sixties now. Maybe trying to live down his past?”

  “Hah!” Casey said. “Not doing too good a job at that, is he?”

  “Okay.” Smitty took over. “So maybe we found him, now what?”

  “Stake out or something,” Les said. “He don’t know me from Adam. I can check if he lives there or not.”

  “And how might you do that?” Casey asked.

  “Easy, just arrange some sort of fake delivery to his house,” he paused momentarily, “Or even better. I’ll try to deliver a neighbor’s package to his house. All I have to do is see his squinty eyes to ID him, right?”

  The three of them looked at each other for a second. “Sounds like a plan to me,” Smitty offered. “But you gotta remember, this guy’s a killer. You just verify that he still lives there, and then get the hell out. Got it?”

  “How do we make him look legit?” Casey asked.

  “That’s sure no problem,” Smitty said. “We get packages all the time in all kinds of trucks even cars. Except UPS. They’re in those brown trucks.”

  “But don’t they wear uniforms?” Casey asked.

  “One guy came in shorts. All we need is a small van and a stick on sign like DHL.”

  “I can do that,” Les said. “Got a friend with a tan panel truck and Tap Plastic’ll make the letters, probably get them done in a couple of hours.”

  Smitty slapped him on the back. “Take your hog and git!”

  Casey said, “Let’s think about it. We only get one bite at this apple, and we have to keep Les safe; don’t forget that this guy’s dangerous. If Peterson’s right, he’s an experienced killer. I think we should stake out the house with some of the gang before Les rings the doorbell.”

  Smitty didn’t waste any time. “Josie,” He roared. She yelled back impatiently from the bottom of the stairs. “What?”

  “Get on the horn and get two or three of the guys up here asap. We’re going to bike over to Alameda; back in an hour or so.”

  Because it was midday and the streets were pretty open, it didn’t take long for them to drop down from the hills, get through downtown Oakland and through the tube to Alameda. Once out of the tube, Smitty relied on Casey’s memory to get to Lina Avenue.

  “Hang a right at the signal, then we go five or six blocks, then another right.”

  “Is it five or six?”

  “Doesn’t matter, both cross Lina.”

  “Got it.”

  As they approached Lina Avenue, Smitty pulled them both over.

  “If Lina’s all small homes like these,” he pointed, “There’s no concealment for our guys.”

  “What were you looking for?”

  “A small corner grocery store or maybe a coffee shop. Something where a guy or two could hang out for a short time.”

  “It’s all residential. I think the best bet is to make just one slow pass down the street. We both have helmets on so no one can see where we’re looking as long as we don’t turn our heads. You watch left, and I’ll watch right and let’s see what we come up with. Any other ideas?”

  “That’s about what we’re left with, except we’re going around the block without stopping. I want to get a glimpse of his backyard and the houses behind him.” Smitty thought it over for a second then, “Let’s do it,” and eased the clutch out.

  Slowly and casually they cycled side by side down the street trying to look very innocent and completely involved in each other but all the time closely scanning the houses as they drove by until they reached the end of the block and turned the corner.

  “Satisfied?” Casey asked.

  “I think so,” Smitty answered and they started back home.

  Less than an hour later, they were back at the dining room table talking about what they’d learned. Josie and the Sister joined them.

  The sister asked, “Did you say that his yard was really neat?”

  “Sure was, by far the neatest on the block,” Casey answered.

  “Do you mean it was just neat like in swept up and such?”

  “No. I mean it was like,” he hesitated, “meticulous. Everything neatly laid out, all squares and rectangles.”

  “Ah hah!” the sister exclaimed. “That’s a pretty common trait among serial murderers. At least in what I’ve read. Compulsive neatness.”

  “You think he’s a serial murderer?” Josie asked.

  “No I don’t” the sister said emphatically. Everything psychological profile I’ve read about serial killers say usually kill compulsively, certainly not for hire. More like an assassin?”

  Smitty was getting impatient. “Let’s keep it simple. We’re pretty sure he’s in there alone. Casey, you use that blind spot you discovered and sidle up next to his door ready to jump. I’ll walk up to the door and knock. When he answers the door, I’ll take him and you back me up. Simple and quick. Okay?”

  Casey was quick to object. “Won’t work, Smitty. Lanner will likely recognize you and pull a gun on you.”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Case. I’ll pull up in a car and be wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap. I’ll just get out and make a beeline for his front door. He won’t have time to recognize me. All you gotta do is sneak up beside his door. Think you can do that?” He asked in a challenging tone.

  “Of course I can, but I have serious reservations about the plan,” Casey responded.

  “Great, then it’s settled,” Smitty announced. “Eight o’clock tomorrow morning we’ll do it.

  Les had a question. “Then what?”

  “We’ll take him somewhere and talk to him.”

  “Not here,” Josie sang out from the living room where she had gone to avoid being in on the planning.

  Everyone was silent for a few minutes until Casey said, “Richmond?”

  “That’ll have to do,” Smitty agreed.

  “What is a Richmond?” the sister asked.

  Casey enlightened her. “It’s a large garage-like building in Richmond the motorcycle club owns that builds repairs and installs truck bodies. One of their largest contracts is for garbage trucks owned by the city. It has a private suite of rooms on the second floor we can use. In fact, at one time, Smitty lived there for a while.” He didn’t mention how they had used it to great advantage in a previous adventure.

  “Here’s the plan,” Smitty explained to the gathered guys. “It’s really simple. Casey and I drive over to Lanner’s house. I let Casey out at the corner and wait for him to get in place. Then I drive over to the house and casually walk up to the front door carrying this briefcase.” He held up a worn looking leather briefcase. “I’ll knock on the door and swarm all over Lanner when he opens it. Casey will back me up. Okay so far?” Reluctantly Casey agreed, along with the rest of the group.

  “The rest of you guys are going to be in the van parked around the corner where you can keep an eye on Lanner’s front porch. Questions?

  Les again, “Then what?”

  “You wait for our signal to come get us, what else?”

  Silence reigned.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Smitty announced.

  CHAPTER 41

  Casey pressed his body as tight as possible against the wall between the front door and the front window and watched Smitty approach down the walk. The walk was cement and was surrounded by a totally brown and dead lawn. A couple of scraggly bushes grew beside it and were also dead to Casey’s eye. Smitty paused and look at a piece of paper as if he was checking the address. As far as he could detect, there was no movement inside
the house. He winked as Smitty passed by him, knocked at the door and waited. And waited. He knocked again. Suddenly the door flew open. Casey waited for Smitty to charge in and subdue Lanner. Instead Smitty just stood there, fist in air, poised to knock again, frozen in place. He couldn’t see that Smitty was confronted by a pistol barrel in the hands of a man standing some five feet inside the door ordering him to come in. Before Casey could react a voice above his head said, “And you outside, you better come too or your friend gets shot.” The warning was accompanied by the ominous click of a gun being cocked.

  Casey thought about running back the way he had sneaked up. The next moment the speaker mounted above the door commanded his attention. “Don’t even think about it, we’re watching your every move.” He looked up. A camera eye pointed directly at him. Reluctantly, he threw his arms up in surrender and stepped over the threshold. Instantly, the door was slammed shut, and he was knocked to his knees. Dozens of thoughts flashed through his mind in milliseconds. He raised his eyes and found Lanner standing directly in front of him. Recognition was in his eyes.

  “I’ll be a son of a bitch, you again?” He walked over to Casey and with the toe of his shoe, tipped his face up to get a better view.

  “Both of you? What the hell is this? Your motorcycle gang got some kind of a vendetta against me? Or is it some kind of vengeance because of the dumb blond bartender? She got it ‘cause she turned me in, the stupid broad.”

  Smitty held his tongue.

  Lanner continued his rant as he spoke to the other gunman. “You know what this means don’t you. Means we gotta move again. If these assholes can find us, so can the police.”

  “We could just kill them and set fire to the place. You know, get rid of all the evidence.”

  Casey’s attention switched to the second gunman. He looked to be in his fifties and totally unremarkable except that he was obviously and seriously overweight. As he looked at him closely, he realized that he looked unremarkable because there was very little expression on his face. Casey deduced from that perhaps he wasn’t dealing from a full deck.

  Lanner looked at him in disdain. “You ever read newspapers? That never works no more. The goddamn fire inspectors are too damn smart. It’s a stupid idea.”